


Reasons Not to Want This (But I'm Waiting)

by Estivate



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Bad life decisions, Everyone's Running Away from Something, Liminal Spaces for Only the Lonely, M/M, Porn w Feelings, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Tiddie Bar Bartender Thor, Vulnerable Teen Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate
Summary: On stage he’s nothing short of hypnotic. The added lure of lights, red like desire, sensual in their velvet glow. The crowd commands more and more of his regulars for the turn out. Loki moves as if he’s never known anything else, an effortless seduction that was as natural as being. The way he’s able to hold the beat justright, undulate to the rhythm in sinuous sway.Most importantly: compelled those watching that the dirty waste of his surroundings was his life’s calling. He managed to sell the fantasy where so many before him couldn’t. Made you want him somewhere more than just a fleeting bathroom quickie.In the fool’s hope of making the night warm again.





	Reasons Not to Want This (But I'm Waiting)

The kid gets blown in on a wet and windy Thursday night.

A scrawny thing huddled inside a dreary black coat, eyes still rubbing out grit after falling asleep on the Greyhound, nothing else to his name except the beat down duffel bag over his shoulder and shoes that had seen better days. With a face like that though, he doesn’t know his own worth yet as he pushes through the crowd. All taut limbs and limber lines.

Thor gives him six months. Tops. 

He’s wiping down the counter – moving on to glasses as the kid shuffles his way to the bar. Head ducked and expression dubious about his surroundings. He looks as though he’s trying to find the right questions to ask, the right directions to go off, but another customer takes his drinks and jostles past. The kid just takes it. He looks lost.

They always were. Always got off a stop too early.

Thor gives him an unsubtle lookover. He’s tall. So that’ll help. He’s also young. That’ll definitely help. He hopes the kid’s a quick learner, but even if you didn’t start out as such, you’d become one. This place doesn’t let you take your time in getting used to it. If it’s anything like where he’s presumably been running from, this stop was one he should’ve kept running past.

If the money had lasted.

Tch. Runaways. He’s seen it all. Doesn’t even need to ask for his sob story. Loose fists for a father and a mother drowning in drink. Either one with a high possibility of being dead. Escaping on the heels of the latest argument or finally having scraped enough change to afford a one-way ticket to some drab ol’ town dotting the highway.

The same sorry anthem of ‘_Anywhere but here.’_

He shakes his head. “Are you gonna order something or not?”

Outside, the wind howls up against the wooden slats of the walls and rain beats down on its windows.

The kid has to speak up to be heard as some in the crowd start to hoot and whistle at Lorelei taking her top off. Drink sloshing onto the floor. “Is this Mather Dale?” Thor shakes his head. He’s way off.

The kid looks crestfallen. “Oh.”

No contacts, no backup plan, no options. It’s just what Thor’s come to expect from too many of those who came before him. Thor jerks his head to the side because there’s an impatient line of locals forming and glaring, and Thor doesn’t have the time to pity anyone anymore.

The newcomer is just that. He’s not memorable.

Not yet.

* * *

Thor’s not from here. No one is.

People only ever found themselves here by victims of circumstance. Gods, how old had he been at the time? Fifteen? Sixteen? They had been an agrarian folk, but Thor’s cornflower blue eyes had dreamt of a world outside crop cycling and cattle tending. But he didn’t have the patience within him to wait a few more years before going to the agriculture college a few towns over. Colleges that taught animal husbandry, harvesting technology, or produce pricing.

No. Thor had high-tailed out of there when he couldn’t stand that life any longer.

At the time all he’d taken was his battered motorbike, wallet, and his favourite jacket. Had kissed his mother on the cheek in the kitchen as she was skinning apples, told her he was going to the diner with friends. Skirting with the speed limit, he sped out of there so fast he could’ve easily wound up in a ditch instead if the weather were worse that night.

Wrist cracked and tire rubber burning with the skid marks he left, Thor eventually washed up here. All in all, he considers himself lucky.

He doesn’t regret anything at least. Doesn’t have the courage to.

The world’s now a lot smaller than he imagined it at the time. If he hungered for it before, he only felt the pangs of that hunger now.

* * *

The next time they meet, the kid’s a month along the course.

There wasn’t any shame in it. They all had resorted to the same at some point if the person didn’t cave to calling at a phone booth over their injured pride. For this one then, he wasn’t willing to take the highway back. Telling.

It’s the second lookover, and this time he slows down. Heavy eyeliner, glossy red lips, an unbuttoned jacket that showed off his midriff – the navel piercing that was also new, skin-tight black leather pants that looked like they’d been spray-painted on, and high heels that had him wincing through the pain of walking.

He still looks lost.

Their gazes catch before he quickly darts his eyes away. A lovely green.

Thor raises an eyebrow. “Need directions?” His tone isn’t accusatory, he’s just trying to keep them on track. “Everyone else is already out there.”

“I – meant to go – never mind. Sure.”

Thor makes two quick motions of his hand that are straight forward enough to remember.

The kid nods his thanks. They’re about to pass each other without the need to say anything else—until Thor’s catches him about the arm. “Wait. Hold still.” The kid is caught like a deer-in-headlights. Thor leans in to wipe off the tacky lipstick with his thumb. It smears on his skin. He wipes it off on his own shirt where the kid’s eyes follow. He wasn’t gentle with the treatment and those lips are a little swollen for it, but it’s an improvement.

“That’s better.” he tells him gruffly.

He’s new and doesn’t understand the most valuable quality yet: those with good money will pay more for a sweet thing, that against all odds, has still managed to stay artless, young, innocent.

He doesn’t know why he did it. Kindness wasn’t exactly a habit here.

Shaking off the impulse, he continues past him down the corridor.

The lipstick stays on the corner of his shirt all night.

* * *

“The new guy,” Fandral slurs, cheerfully drunk, “is something.”

Thor slides a beer towards him, snorting. “He’s barely been at this a week.” New dancers always generated buzz.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thor reprimands. Before this drink was done, Fandral would be about drooping down to the floor and he would have to help him home after his shift.

“Uh, yeah. I do.” and he winks. “His name’s Loki. In case you were wondering.”

Good to know. He’ll become something of a familiar face then for the next little while, but otherwise it doesn’t pique his interest. Not in the way Fandral is urging.

“C’mon. I mean – so the metal and leather wouldn’t have you knowing it by looking at him but take off the makeup and he’d be a darling. You’d even be able to take him home to meet your parents.”

Thor sighs and cleans the taps. “Keep drinking.”

“You know you would!” and then tucks into his beer.

No he wouldn’t. Because that would imply going home after he had done all he could to divest himself of the past. He couldn’t face his mother for being the last remaining son to run out on her. If Baldr had lived, maybe he could’ve made something of himself and brought their family into better standing. As is, he’s sure his old man is still trudging through the fields and bringing in the dirt with him wherever he went. Would do so until the soil quality was throttled to scarcity. Until all of it blew away as dust and still it would be all that defined that place.

It was far from a paradise here or even civilized society, but at least the wind moved everyone along and kept the scenery fresh.

Thor looks over to where the kid – Loki – is performing under the red lights. The sheen of sweat gleaming off his collar and hips. Bills tucked into his waistband. Someone tries reaching to pet an ankle. He pivots away.

“I’d fuck him.” Fandral quips, wiping his mouth.

“That’s not saying much.” Thor retorts.

Fandral blinks. Something too close to hurt flickers across his expression, smile wavering. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Thor hadn’t meant it the way he did. Wasn’t sure why he was so prickly. Years ago Fandral had the promise of a girl at home whom he thought he’d one day get hitched with. He carried himself with that same fortunate swagger and the rest of them were always envious of him for it. County sweethearts and all. Cans to be rattling from the bumper of his pride-and-joy junkyard pickup.

“S’ok.” They watch as Loki finishes his number. Thankfully, it wasn’t that busy of a night.

Internally, Thor concedes that yes, he would.

* * *

For the next week, when Thor has the opportunity, he watches. Loki doesn’t perform every night, but he is starting to book better time slots. Lorelei gets downgraded to be included on Mondays. She’s not as young as she used to be though – can’t pull off the dirtier moves that Loki does with such fluidity, but she still has that firebrand red hair going for her. She’ll be fine.

Thursday rolls around again and there’s a man who has taken notice rather early on, to make the effort of being here all the same nights. Whereas others, when generous, are tossing fives, he’s tossing tens. Thor narrows his eyes when he’s not serving. Middle-aged. Fair bit of muscle.

Loki finally follows him out when the show’s over.

* * *

The following evening, it’s a Friday night that no one else will have cause to remember.

It’s busy, and waves of people are breaking against the stage as well as the bar. Tide after tide. The past four hours on his feet. There’s no break in the line until almost midnight. He crosses over to take a chance for a rest. The entire place stinks of sweat from the dancers, petrol fumes from the patrons, and cheap alcohol splashed onto the floor that he’ll have to clean. So much so that his first drag feels like the freshest breath of air in comparison.

He doesn’t notice the figure sidling up beside him until he’s already there, beyond the periphery of his vision that’s filled with the hazy crimson lighting and smoke. “Got one to spare?”

Thor slides his gaze to the side. Hand moving behind to pull out the pack. The kid’s not in his performance wear tonight. Instead, he’s got a new pair of jeans in a proper fit. Untattered too. A simple black turtleneck. Plain faced, no makeup. Looking a helluva lot fresher than Thor feels but still tired himself.

“Weren’t you supposed to be up?”

Loki plucks a cigarette and Thor flicks open the lighter too. He leans in, fingers elegantly balancing the tip to the flame. Thor notices his nails painted jet black. He breathes deep, savouring the inhale too, but his green eyes water a little, giving away that he’s still a novice.

Straightening, “I gave my spot up just for tonight.”

He leans against the wall. Karnilla was taking to the stage with a wink and a saunter, curling her finger at the balding trucker against its edge. “Bad night not to be working though.”

The corner of Loki’s lips quirk in a wry smile. It’s only been a little while, but the kid already seems changed. Looks as if he’s seen things – experienced things. “That makes the two of us then.”

“I’m just catching my breath.” Thor corrects, then rearranges the dish towel over his shoulder as if to make a point.

Given the energy from the floor. Things were about to get rowdy and the dances dirty. He doesn’t really want to be here when a fight breaks out – can practically call it in the hormonally charged stale air.

Coming in front to suddenly fill Thor’s view (he’s gotten a lot bolder; Thor gives him that), he takes Thor’s hand, touch strangely cool against Thor’s heated skin. “Let’s get out of here then.”

Thor blinks, snagged on the obviousness of his proposition. Arcs an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Now.” and Loki tries gently tugging him off the wall.

Thor’s frame doesn’t budge. He opens his mouth for any number of reasons why he shouldn’t: abandoning post, jumping ship, shafted clean up duty. But then he’s seized by the way the light frames that pale face – the sharpness of those cheeks still barely out of adolescence – the mark of a troublemaker. The marksmanship of Loki’s keen, baby-doll eyes.

Loki tries one last action by teasingly wetting his lips.

And Thor’s change of heart is complete. _Why not. Why the fuck not._

He lets Loki lead them out the door. They flick their cigarettes onto the rain-slicked street.

* * *

His trailer for rent is on the sparse end. Small and cramped too, but at least it’s clean. Featureless as a cheap motel room. All that really fills the space is the corner twin bed, an ashtray on the dresser, and a naked bulb. Just the necessities. The barest minimum.

He doesn’t charge any less than his market worth, which was good since value depreciated fast in this business, but that doesn’t mean Thor’s not going to make him work for the hundred.

Thor starts unbuttoning. They’re both soaked through from running and cursing through the downpour. First his shirt then his wifebeater tank. He still cuts a pretty decent figure and Loki’s breath hitches. As if suddenly self conscious, he moves to draw the bulb’s pull string switch. Thor doesn’t mind even if then all he has to go by is the weak, watery light through the venetian blinds. Mistakes were easier to swallow when done in the dark.

Their jeans were harder to remove from how the wet denim stuck to their legs, but finally their clothes are discarded with a damp splat on the floor. Loki’s shivering slightly in the nude. Thor steps in near to place a hand on those hips and tilt his chin up.

He doesn’t miss the way Loki delicately shies away from the touch.

His brows crease in confusion. “If you don’t want this th—“

“I do.” he cuts in. “Please. I do.” and raises on tip toe to catch Thor’s lips with his own. Then pulls back timidly. Thor’s palm moved to the nape of his neck following the line of those dark locks still dripping water. There are droplets clinging on the boy’s eyelashes too.

Thor’s eyes carry caution. _Don’t mistake this for anything except business kid._

As he moves backwards towards the edge of the bed, Thor’s gaze spies the mottled coloration of bruises where he had first touched. Elsewhere too on the cinch of the waist and the curve of his inner thigh – standing out against the otherwise creamy skin. It was only a moment, but they looked fresh.

Then, Loki is fully swallowed by the dark in the corner of his bed.

He follows.

But he’s seen what he’s seen.

* * *

In the morning, Sif is already there to scold him. “Where _were_ you last night?” she hisses. A couple of bottles nearly got broken over a guy’s head. We could’ve used you to break them up.”

He’s useful as a wall of muscle, but that doesn’t mean glass doesn’t cut through flesh easily the same as anyone else.

“Seems like you handled it though.” and smirks cheekily.

“Fandral hurt his shoulder.” she mutters.

He’ll have to make it up to him then.

“Sorry.” is the only sincere sentiment he can offer.

She rolls her eyes, “That’s cheap talk. I’m putting you on extra shifts for the next week to substitute for him.”

Thor nods. Then the anger dissipates. This was just how it was sometimes. At least Sif doesn’t press for details. She gets it too after all, trying to raise a kid by herself on the side. As long as they always came back to cover each other’s asses.

The day trawls by with Thor going through the motions. Patching up windows with electrical tape and sweeping up the shards of yesterday’s destruction. With every broken pane, the place is less cozy at night, but it’s the best he can manage.

Throughout it all, he mulls over the scenes of last night: a memory of touch. How the boy had reacted beneath him – surprisingly slow to thaw instead of any rough-and-tumble. The way he had ran his hands through Thor’s hair and eased loose the bun, blond strands curtained their kisses.

Loki. He lingers on the boy in his mind.

In the end worth every dollar.

Most those he fucked tended to be quick affairs. Rushed release with a willing partner. The boy had been unexpectedly tender, though he knows there was probably a reason for that apart from the façade of intimacy. That reason was making himself known again coming in early and the guy he recognized as dogging Loki’s heels. Thor doesn’t like the greedy glint in those eyes.

He’s big, but Thor’s bigger.

“Hey.” tapping him on the shoulder.

Throws the first punch.

* * *

“What was the reason?” Sif asks later when she’s administering first aid in the bathroom, cleaning the cut on Thor’s temple. He’s bandaging his own scraped knuckles.

He grimaces at the sting and rubs his jaw, “Trust me, he was bad news.”

“I don’t need you _and_ Fandral out of commission you know.” annoyance seeping into her voice. “Don’t think that just because you’ve bled a little that I’m letting you off the hook.”

Thor shrugs.

Outside, someone bangs against the door for them to hurry up. “Just a minute!” she shouts.

“Thanks.” he mutters, making out the way she’s patched him up in the grimy mirror. Sif punches him in the arm, then tells him to get back to tending bar.

That night Loki dances unharassed. On stage he’s nothing short of hypnotic. The added lure of lights, red like desire, sensual in their velvet glow. The crowd commands more and more of his regulars for the turn out. Drinks fly off the shelves. Music pulsating to everyone’s heartbeats. Loki moves as if he’s never known anything else, had aspired to be here, an effortless seduction that was as natural as being. The way he’s able to hold the beat just _right_, undulate to the rhythm in sinuous sway.

Most importantly: compelled those watching that the dirty waste of his surroundings was his life’s calling. He managed to sell the fantasy where so many before him couldn’t. Made you want him somewhere more than just a fleeting bathroom quickie.

In the fool’s hope of making the night warm again.

* * *

By late fall, the cold sharpens itself to be able to pierce through all layers of clothing. Customers shuffle in with their shoulders hunched, hands bunched into their pockets, ears red-tipped, lips chapped and dry. Driving conditions are tough. Last week a truck had skidded on black ice, stemming all four lanes and clogging up the highway for miles. Everyone is kept wary about the weather. Some fields were unfortunate to be pelted by hail before harvest.

Thor crinkles his nose at the familiar stench of damp cowhide, rotting hay, and third-rate whiskey.

A drowsy man nurses his drink and inquires whether that dark-haired lad were still around.

Thor doesn’t look up. Doesn’t even pause what he’s doing. “No.”

“Darn. I was really hoping to catch him on this run. How long has he been gone?”

“A month.”

More like two, but no one’s keeping track.

“Nearly sucked the soul from out of my cock, that one. Lil’ green eyes treated ya real good on his knees.” grinning lasciviously. Thor’s broad shoulders tighten.

The guy doesn’t take notice. Too caught up in the reverie. “Ever get to try him for yourself?”

“No.” it comes out a little too quick.

“No? Pity.”

He finally seems to take the hint by all of Thor’s curt answers and turns back to regard the newcomer taking the stage. Svad had been a real mechanical rodeo bull riding champ. Look was completed with a cowboy hat and all. The man could really gyrate his hips. It’s as fine a performance as any, but Thor has no desire to see the routine more than once.

Every now and then someone comes hunting.

Since his disappearance, stories abounded regarding his whereabouts. He was in the next-next town over wearing his kneecaps to bits, south bound. He got scouted by an amateur porn director and was now an indie Youjizz internet sensation. He became the personal boytoy of the owner of the chain’s establishment when the seedy businessman had been making the check-ins.

Whatever the story, Thor’s stopped watching the door for about a month now.

* * *

The daylight is at its shortest, temperatures at their coldest, when Loki comes back in the most miserable grips of winter.

Fandral mutters “You better not run out on me again.”

“Don’t worry.” Thor replies despondently.

Over the next few hours as he keeps his gaze lowered to the task at hand, he has no way of confirming without seeking those eyes out, but he swears he feels Loki’s gaze on him, and it makes him antsy. Irritable.

True to his word, Thor loyally stays put for his shift until the place is winding down. Amora lazily twirls her hips like she’s bored and can’t wait to go home already, staring at nothing but keeping her smile in place. Finally, Fandral leaves it to him to close up shop and claps Thor on the back before he departs.

The sky rumbles ominously. He’ll give it another half hour or so to try and beat the incoming storm, scrubbing the counter to a new level of polish until he can boot the drunk stragglers out. Then after that he’ll--

“May I get a drink?” Loki asks in that smooth voice.

Thor’s skin prickles in reaction.

Thor crosses his arms, wanting all the world to be petulant about it and tell him the bar’s closed. Then Loki does that thing where he flicks his gaze upwards from beneath those dark lashes, and Thor grumpily gives in.

“Fine. What’s your order?”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, they’re fucking in the pitch black of the bar’s parking lot, crammed awkwardly inside the back of Thor’s rusty truck. It’s subzero outside with the storm winds shrieking. The heat their bodies generate fogged up the insides of his windows. They’re testing how fast the suspension can rock with the way Thor is pumping inside, sped on by Loki’s cries.

He comes with a groan that feels like it’ll shave a year off his lifespan. Slumps into the cracked leather seats while Loki’s arm drops limp into the foot rest area.

“Fuck.” Thor comes up gasping. “_Fuck._”

Loki’s glazed expression is that of one who’s still seeing stars. His jeans are pooled around his ankles, shirt rucked up past the line of his nipples. Thor had shot his thick load in a streak over that taut stomach and some of it had dribbled onto Loki’s softening cock.

Thor doesn’t give him time to recover before he’s instructing him to pull his pants on again.

“Wha--?”

“C’mon. I’m driving.”

They make the trip in silence. Thor’s wipers working to clear the snow. Loki stares out the passenger window, not that there’s much of a view. Thor’s frustrated, but makes his way carefully through low visibility. He’s not going to crash and die before he gets another nut in, and so keeps his foot hovered over the brake, trying not to strain out of his skin with the tension.

“Where are we going exactly?”

Thor doesn’t answer. Keeps his eyes on the road. Cock hard in his pants again already.

* * *

They’re not even through the threshold of the ratty motel room before snatching at each other’s clothing. Thor pushes a rough palm under Loki’s shirt, feeling up his chest and hauling him off balance against the wall. He shoves a knee between the boy’s thighs, followed by his tongue down that mouth, teeth clashing.

They break apart when Thor goes for the pale column of neck, and Loki tips his head back to expose more of it, sweet mouth falling open with a fluttering gasp.

Erections both impatient and uncomfortable within the constraints of their clothing, both of them race to undo the other’s belt and waistband, tugging it down and kicking it to the side. Freed, Thor grips him under his thighs while Loki hikes his legs up to wrap around Thor’s hips.

He haphazardly transports them to the scratchy bed, falling on top of Loki and nearly knocking the breath out of him.

He pauses here. Just to admire something while he still has the chance. The length of Loki’s lithe, dancer body. Whipcord thin and caged beneath him. Those eyes, greener than dollar bills, blown wide open. Matched by his ruby bitten lips, parted in a delicate O.

Each and every motion his body could produce was practiced by now, except Loki had lifted his hand to cup Thor’s cheek and Thor had unwittingly flinched. Not something any other partner has elicited in him. Not something that’ll happen again.

So he shakes the hand aside, and continues with their frenzied urgency.

He’s paid well, so he doesn’t bother to be gentle. Jackhammers his way into that tight heat paved only with his previous spend and practically chisels the length of his cock into that ass. The pads of his index and middle finger push down on Loki’s tongue – deep. Softens the sounds to a series of mewling whimpers.

As the night wears on, Thor has Loki at his mercy, near folded in half and biting down on the jugular. All the positions that would take him in the deepest. It didn’t matter how. Loki comes up choking after Thor releases his hold, face-fucking the boy so that he’d memorize the taste of Thor’s seed. That throat works him greedily. Takes it all.

Hours later, when they’re both wrung dry, when Thor’s balls are depleted and verging on dry orgasm such that there’s nothing to spurt—

Afterwards, Loki rests in the crook of his arm and they share a smoke – trading it back and forth between inhales.

“I gotta go in the morning.” he murmurs against Thor’s chest.

_Where?_

“Fine.”

Something like hurt flashes through Loki’s eyes. “Come with me?”

And that’s when Thor feels his stomach sink. “Is that why you came back?”

Several beats pass. The headlights of cars coming off the highway ramp cast their slanted glares over the side of his face.

“You have a car. We could go anywhere we wanted. I’m not much but don’t you want to find out if there’s more out there?”

_Don’t mistake this for anything except business kid._

He should have said it out loud from the beginning.

It was already too late for him. The people he let down along the way, running from everything he knew. Eventually, he learned that the most he could do was stop the misdirected lies that you were going anywhere. That you could fix anything and return even better than when you left. Realized that it came down to what you could live with at the end of the day – and to live it out as penance.

“Shut up.”

Loki rises away from him as if shocked and stubs out the cigarette like he’s been kicked. Moves to the edge of the bed. Unable to even look at Thor anymore.

“You’re free to go anywhere you want, but I’m staying.” he tells him flatly. Killing all hope. “I pay. We fuck. That was the arrangement. If you wanted romantic roleplay, you should’ve specified.”

There’s a strangled sob and Loki turns to the side, trying not to cry. Holding himself together for that last shred of pride. Barely managing. Finally, he says very quietly. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Yeah.” the shattered affirmation of defeat.

Once thin daylight threads through, he feigns sleep as Loki puts on his clothes, as quietly about the room as he can. He steals whatever remaining bills out of Thor’s wallet, and rushes to put on his boots like the floor is made of lava. Doesn’t even stop to tie the laces. Doesn’t dare look back.

Then, he’s out the door.

Gone.

**Author's Note:**

> You thought I was going to let them be happy there for a moment didn't you. 
> 
> Music inspo: The Neighbourhood - [Wiped Out!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3UCVQIjAJ8) (Don't skip the second half! It's really two songs in one.)
> 
> Follow at my [tumblr](https://estivate9.tumblr.com) or (more often) [twitter.](https://twitter.com/Estivate9)


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